Son
by Steefwaterbutter
Summary: Find a vantage point. Set the case down. Open it. Take the main body of the gun. Twist the long barrel into place. Place the scope. Insert the magazine. Aim. "You shouldn't do this Connor." Hank's voice. The one that always got under his artificial skin, an itch he could never scratch. Alternate ending to the rooftop scene with Connor and Hank. (Cover image by SassyDreamer95)


_A/N: Okay. So, I, like, love ((CONnOr)) this game way too much. Waaaaay too much. And I was talking to my friend about how I like this game way too kuch and... This happened. I'm still halfway convinced this is trash and I shouldn't be posting it, but heck. Its been a while since I posted a story and it's midnight and I should really just get some sleep._

 _Warning: soppy feels to follow. XD_

* * *

The door opened with a loud clunk, metal scraping across metal. And Connor stepped onto the snow-dusted roof.

 _ **Find a vantage point.**_

Set the case down. Open it. Take the main body of the gun. Twist the long barrel into place. Place the scope. Insert the magazine. Adjust the stand.

Aim.

 **Probability of success: 99%**

"You shouldn't do this Connor."

Hank's voice. The one that always got under his artificial skin, an itch Connor could never scratch.

 **Probability of success: 82%**

Connor spared a second glance back, even though he knew it was Hank standing there. "Keep out of this, Lieutenant. This doesn't involve you."

Then, "That's what I thought for a long time, but I was wrong. Deviant's blood may be a different color than mine—" Hank's voice was low, that same tone Connor had used during his conversation with Daniel. The deviant. It. On the rooftop. Just like they were now. "But they're alive."

 **Probability of success: 66%**

There it was again.

Sending a slight tremor through his hands. He tightened them on the sniper, then let them fall away. There was a 98% chance Hank would continue to interfere with his mission.

He couldn't let that happen.

"I have a mission to accomplish, Hank." He matched the tone with an even beat of his own. "It's best if you just stay out of this. Deviants are a threat to humanity and it's my mission to stop them."

"We're in this message because we refused to listen to deviants!" Hank said. "Humanity never learns from it's mistakes, Connor! This time it could be different."

 _ **Neutralize the threat.**_

In one fluid motion he stood up, letting the sniper hang loosely from his hand. His eyes met Hank's, glanced over the barrel of the gun Hank had trained on his face.

That tremor.

 **Probability of success: 60%**

" _You could have shot those two girls. But you didn't."_

"You know, I thought—I saw something in you, Connor."

" _I saw the fear in her eyes..."_

"Maybe I still do."

" _Why didn't you shoot, Connor?"_

"Maybe I think you're better than this."

 _Fight it._

"Or maybe you're just what they say you are. Nothing more than a piece of plastic."

 _Choose now._

Connor lunged forward. A blast sounded in his ears, something the human's called "pain" exploding along one of his arms. Duck. Punch. Every move anticipated, every throw carefully planned. The impacts, causing small tears in his artificial skin. The squelching thud as he shoved Hank off, watching as the older man fell to the ground, his body making a small dent in the snow.

The lieutenant was good, he had to admit.

He reached down and grabbed the human's jacket, jerking him upright.

But not good enough.

Hank—

Barely standing on the edge of the roof, unbalanced. Connor's hand the only thing keeping him from slipping to his death.

Muffled sounds of a protest in the distance. Snow drifting down around them. That spark of fear in Hank's eyes. Like that android—Chloe. Except this was so much more raw, the eyes blinking as the man fought to cover up his own feelings, overlapping with anger and resentment… and doubt.

Connor's hands trembled.

 _I don't want to do this._

"Moment of truth, Connor," Hank panted. "What are you gonna do?"

 **Probability of success: 100%**

 _._

 _._

 _._

He yanked forward, throwing Hank's body to the safety of the roof.

 _ **Kill him.**_

Connor's entire body shook, and he collapsed to his knees. Cold rushed into his hands.

…. _no._

Hank was his partner.

 _I can't._

It was so much more than that. Hank was his friend. Hank was the one who told Connor to stay behind him, the one… who cared about him.

He was a machine, designed to carry out a mission. Nothing more. Except Hank saw him as more than that. There was that word Hank had used… only once, the meaning of which Connor knew, he knew the meaning of every word in the English language, plus countless more.

But he didn't understand why Hank had called him that.

His breath jerked in and out of his ventilation system… his throat, his body feeling hot, too hot, despite the snow beating at his body from all sides. Something shuddered deep within his body, then…

"I'm sorry."

It came out soft, so soft he could barely hear it. Something wet was running down his cheeks, something he could not quite understand. A hiccupping breath in his throat.

"I am sorry, Lieutenant."

 _I almost killed him._

"I'm sorry." Everything was pouring in and it was too much. All this... emotion, pouring into him and he didn't know how to control it. He curled into himself, feeling the wet sensation continue to run down his face. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I—I'm sorry." Speech stuttering. Limbs shaking. He had to make Hank understand, had to—

"You never would follow orders," Hank said, his own breath coming in short gasps.

Something slipped into Connor's chest. He felt his thirium pump constrict, pounding faster in an effort to provide more thirium throughout his trembling body. He felt cold, and far off, in his mind palace, he felt Amanda's betrayal.

"I'm sorry, Hank," he said, almost a whimper, before his voice gave out, replaced with more hiccuping breaths. The world felt like it was caving in around him, swarmed by thoughts and sensations and _I almost killed him, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…_

A long sigh. Then Connor felt a pressure on his shoulder, a warm hand. "Just… calm down, Connor. Calm down." He felt another hand close onto his other shoulder, helping him sit up. Then another sigh, and Connor felt arms wrapped around him. "It's okay, Connor."

It felt steadying.

"You're okay, son."

* * *

 _A/N: Reviews give me life. Almost as much as Hank treating Connor like his son does. :3_


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